Nonconformist?
by Black Katt15
Summary: Rated M for a reason. Yaoi BOY/BOY Half-Peeled Lemon "It wasn’t a problem to me; I’m bi. However, as far as he knew, he was straight. Funny how things change."


**Pairing: Dylan(RedGoth)/Stan [BOY/BOY]  
Oneshot  
Rated M: Light drug use, ****Swearing, ****Somewhat Explicit Sexual Themes  
Half-Peeled Lemon - Read at your own risk**

"**Nonconformist?"**

_A South Park Fan fiction_

Stan hadn't been in our group for too long. Maybe a couple of days. Still, I couldn't deny there was an attraction between us. Nothing long-term. I wasn't looking for anything like that, and I doubt he was looking for anything after his break-up with Wendy. He had to feel that connection between us, though. It was just too strong for him not to. It wasn't really closeness or any of that happy-sappy love shit. It was more of a lust. A thirst, for the passion we'd been denied. It wasn't strange to me. It wasn't a problem to me; I'm bi. However, as far as he knew, he was straight.

Funny how things change.

He had taken pretty well to the way we live. As a creature of the light turns to the dark, it's not an easy change. I might've taken advantage of him. He was Wendy's little lost lamb and I was the big, bad wolf, out after my prey. Only, there was a twist. I took him under my wing rather than devouring him… Not right then, anyway.

His old friends didn't understand his pain like we did. We took him in. He fancied an Edgar Allan Poe shirt I had. I gave it to him. His hair was naturally jet black, straight and silky smooth, soft to the touch… I remember running my hands through that hair…

I had enough one day. That pent up tension between us, God; it was like a dog in heat. I told him we were going to the graveyard to write poems again when we had actually planned to go to Henrietta's house that day. We wouldn't be interrupted.

The tension had never been thicker.

We had never been alone together before. He sat in the grass, back against the gravestone I sat atop of, cigarette hanging out of my mouth as I wrote in my poetry book. Occasionally, I'd peek down to see him not writing, just staring at a blank page or flipping through previously written poems. They were all about Wendy. That was enough.

I sighed, closing the book and letting to drop to the ground, taking my cigarette from my mouth and resting it in a groove of the gravestone, like an ashtray. He blinked up at me, unable to hide his confusion as I slid down to sit next to him. "Dylan…?"

I shushed him, scooting a bit closer. We both knew I was pushing boundaries. He didn't move away, though. I looked him over, noticing his blush through the white make-up we put on him to make him look pale. He looked good with eyeliner. That blush made him look so innocent… I can't describe how badly I wanted to take that innocence.

"Raven…" That was the nickname I gave him. "How much of a nonconformist are you…?" I leaned closer to him with each word. I saw the blush deepen as he struggled to keep an emotionless expression; he struggled with that around me.

"I-I… I'm a t-total nonconformist…" He swallowed. I watched his tongue run over his lips; the action seemed to take much longer than it did in reality. I didn't know if it had been simply out of nervousness or whether he was preparing for what was coming. All I knew was one thing…

I wanted that to be my tongue.

My lips slightly turned up into a smirk at his answer. I heard his breath become shallow. He knew that was a warning. "Enough…" I slipped my hand up to cup his cheek, leaning ever closer, "to kiss a guy…?"

I heard his breath catch in his throat. I felt it shudder out and brush on my lips. I was so close, _so close_; I could hear his pounding heart. If I was paying more attention at the time than to just his lips, I'd see his deep blush through the make-up. I didn't even give him a chance to finish squeaking out his answer. "… S-su-"

I smashed our lips together, rubbing his cheek softly before running my hand into his hair. He submitted to the kiss almost immediately; I felt his arms clasp around my neck. I wasn't wasting time with sweet, love shit, though. I wrapped my other arm around his waist, pulling him closer to me.

The kiss was passionate and rough. I grazed my teeth and tongue over his lips. I wasn't asking permission. I was giving a warning. I shoved him against the gravestone, using his small yelp as a chance to plunge my tongue into his mouth.

I felt him shudder under me as I memorized his mouth. I ran my hand through his perfect hair, hat being pushed from his head and forgotten on the ground. I messed his perfect hair, and somehow I liked it better this way: messy, between my fingers. I shuddered myself when he pulled me closer; I heard his soft moan as our tongues entwined.

My God, this was driving me insane. I still had him pinned against the gravestone when we finally separated for more than a second, taking deep breaths, panting. He finally opened his eyes to look at me. I thought he was going to say something. I guess I made him speechless.

He surprised me, being the one to reconnect our lips. It didn't take me any time to shove my tongue into his mouth once again. At this point, I didn't care if we were caught or not. We just did everything we could to get closer, to intensify our feelings. My teeth pressed against his lips, grazing across them, earning me shivers, a whimper. Then my lips were at his jaw, on his neck. His arms moved down my back; he turned his head to allow me more access to his neck. I tasted the powder of the white make-up, tasted his flesh, caught it between my teeth.

His breath was coming in quick gasps as I ate at his skin, my rewards being whimpers and moans, whispers spurring me on. His lips were a bit swollen; there would be marks on his neck. _My _marks. I was rough. I knew it, and I always loved the marks left. Stan was mine. No matter how his life turned out, who he "fell in love with", he'd always be mine.

I continued ravaging his neck as I slipped my hands down, running them along his waist. They slid under his shirt; I smirked against his neck when he gasped. I traced the lines of his stomach, running a hand over his abs. I almost found myself jealous. He was fucking fit for our age. Must've been those years of sports… I was lean, pretty skinny, but I had some build… Just not like Raven.

Yet, the fact that I had him shuddering under me, begging for my touch, in my total control… That made up for a lot. I slid a hand up further, smirk growing as I caught a nipple between my fingers, squeezing and twisting. I was very satisfied with his cry. Very.

"Oh my God… D-Dylan…" I shivered as his hands ran down my spine, at his whisper of my name… I bit down on his neck; it was a sudden urge. He cried out, gripping my waist. I sucked at the wound I created, licked the bit of blood. Somewhere inside, I hoped he'd scar. My hands trailed down; I hoped the mark would stay. I _wanted_ them to know he was mine.

My hands reached the button of his pants. I fumbled with it before finally getting it undone, pulling the zipper down and shivering slightly from his low groan. I slid his pants down a bit, smirking at the bulge in his boxers. Even they were black. We had gotten to him. "Well, if I did this to you just from working on your upper body…" He gasped and bit his lip as I rubbed the ever growing bulge. "What the fuck can I do when the action really starts…?"

I could see my words sinking in, even through the cloud of lust. He whimpered under my attention, gripping the grass and panting. I almost grinned at the whine that rumbled from him when I stopped. "Shh… The best is yet to come…" I leaned to his ear, nipping it before slipping my hand through the slit in his boxers and gripping him, smirking at his yelp. "I thought you were straight, Raven…"

He panted, shuddering and moaning in my ear. "W-Well, that's what I f-fucking thought, t-too…" He obviously wouldn't change a thing about it, though. You learn something everyday… I slowly ran my fingers along his length, closing my eyes and fighting my own moan as I listened to the sounds I could get from him…

I drew back my hand, not for long, though. Just to spit in it; there was no lube at hand, so what else could I do? I gripped him again before he could protest anymore, sliding my hand ever so slowly. He whimpered, nails digging into the dirt. "S-stop… fucking… t-teasing me…" I almost laughed. He certainly wasn't straight. I obeyed, if only to elicit more moans from him; I loved hearing him…

I picked up my pace, smirking up at him. His head was back against the stone, eyes clenched shut, failing to hold back moans and groans of pleasure. His hands were digging into the ground, pulling up grass; he arched his back, his moans getting louder as my hand pumped him faster. I changed rhythms every so often, always keeping him at the height of pleasure; I'd pump sharply, hard, circle my hand around him, rub my fingers over his tip. Every time, he'd react differently, yelping, maybe groaning deep in his throat.

Sweat was beading on his forehead as his breath started coming harder; I knew he was getting close. I had experience… I knew exactly what I was doing. Guys were easy for me… I knew what felt amazing. I knew what he wanted… I pumped him faster, watching him bite his lip and squirm, smirking. "Go on, Raven… _Cum for me._" That got him. He cried out one last time, releasing into my hand. I pumped a few more times before sliding my hand up and sucking at it, licking it clean. He opened his eyes, watching me, shuddering a bit. It was amazing what that did to some people…

He was still panting, and I could tell he was unsure of what would happen from here… I made it easier on him. After licking my hand clean, I helped him get his pants back up, not letting him protest, leaning to his ear once again. "That's all we needed… You enjoyed yourself, hm…?" I smirked at his face as I stood, grabbing my cigarette and book, and walked off. I wasn't going to make him return the favor…

I knew he was thinking of someone else.


End file.
